juliette • 18+ • she/her • wincestpilled • i’m hypersexual as FUCK so this is a HARD and dark nsfw blog. 🎀
mdni ,, anti wincest DNI, anti dean or sam DNI , bigots DNIIIIII!
before i am human i am a wincest worshipper. graduated with honors at the university of wincest actually!
other socials: wincestical on twitter (where my uncensored works are)
spn + the boys
i’m new to the spn fandom, wincesties mutual me pls. i’m still in the middle of watching spn so NO spoilers PRETTY please with a cherry on top 🍒
i prefer wincest either way i don’t care who tops/doms just put a dick inside someone!!!!!! although i do tend to lean more towards submissive/bottom sam and dom/top dean. i don’t care either way though
although i’m new to the fandom i’m NOT new to shipping incest.. all my fave ships have been brotherly incest or father/son incest.. i’m true to this lifestyle..!!
i do not support ai generated media at all.
i’m a smut freak … c:
i’m a student so there might be times i’m inactive and i have a bad habit of deactivating/deleting accounts randomly, and also i muted my tumblr notifs so if i don’t respond fast i’m not ignoring u i swear i’m also just bad at responding to messages so if you sent me something and i don’t reply PLEASE double text and it’ll remind me :)
Dean needs his brother to need him so when Sam wants to punish him, he’ll act sooo disinterested when they’re fucking.
Sam will literally read a book while his brother is in his guts and will go: “are you done yet?” in the most bored voice ever. Drives Dean so nuts that he’ll literally fuck Sam over and over until sam can’t keep up the act anymore or Dean just turns into a whiny mopey mess.
The line was quiet when Dean accepted the call; almost he thought it hadn’t connected properly. A silent stretch of nothingness and then he heard it, the very shallow breathing of his little brother; low and unsteady and fuck. He’d missed him. It was a visceral tug below his ribcage, a swift rearranging of his insides. Not entirely unpleasant, a dip and shiver and swoop within him.
“Hey.” He said because it was apparent Sam wasn’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation despite being desperate to call in the first place.
“Hey.” Soft-voiced, breathy and sweet and Dean’s chest expanded on an abrupt breath, warmth sudden in his lungs, tightening his lower belly. A flare of something more. He frowned at that.
“What’re you drinking?” He asked, sitting back in the hard-backed chair; the scattered, messy collection of case files and other documents forgotten on the dingy motel table in front of him. It could hardly be considered a dining table, it barely seated one comfortably. But it was just big enough to hold his case notes.
“Beer. I shouldn’t be, though. I have a test tomorrow. Or today.” Sam trailed off and Dean could hear the shifting of fabric. Blanket and pillow, and then Sam was sighing. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dean. It’s doing my head in.”
“Yeah?” What else was he supposed to say? I’ve been thinking about you, too, Sammy. Ever since you left it’s not been the same. You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have left me.
Sam made some pitiful little sound in the back of his throat, high-pitched and wavering and it struck Dean low. Made his breath come quicker. A strange response but when Sam spoke, he lost the ability to breathe altogether.
“I wish you were here with me now. Lying beside me. With me. You’d keep me warm, wouldn’t you, De?”
He swallowed. It stuck on the way down, noisy. He was certain Sam would have heard it. Clocked his apprehension. But Sam was too far gone, wasted on cheap beer and mumbling down the line still, heated words, not shy or filtered. And Dean felt a flicker of something through his body. Warm-edged. A little like fondness, and too much like arousal.
“If you were here I’d make sure you were looked after,” a long inhale. A shifting sound. Then Sam stifled a small noise that might’ve been a giggle. “I’d suck you off.” Bold words and an even bolder follow up. “I’d swallow, too. And let you do whatever you wanted to me after.”
Dean’s stomach tightened, a pulse of unbidden desire, hot and stifling. And suddenly the motel room was too hot. His armpits prickling with sweat. He shifted in the chair, warning with a low-pitched voice, “Sam. You’re drunk.”
But you’re not, his mind supplied. Stone-cold sober and getting hot under the collar from hearing your little brother’s naughty words.
It was more than that though. More than the breathy words. More than the implication that Sam must have thought about this type of thing sober for him to have the balls to bring it up drunk.
It was the shivery little breaths from the other end of the line that made Dean’s cock ache; hard and flushed full and he could resist no longer. He scooted his arse forward a little on the chair, his knees falling apart. Popping open the button of his jeans and dragging down the zipper with a muted hiss, he drew in a steadying breath.
The relief, when his erection was freed from the confining denim, was a rush through his lower belly. Heat and the flare and snare of sudden desire.
“De?”
“Yeah, Sammy?” Rough-edged. Like he’d swallowed a handful of jagged rocks. He swallowed, fingers loosely wrapped around the heated length of his erection. Not moving. A display of self-restraint. A hesitancy even. His eyes drifted over the contents of the table; satanic symbols and red-marked letters. The case he’d been diligently working for the past month hardly mattered right now.
“I want you inside me.”
And shit. Dean’s whole body tightened with those words, warm and slightly slurred. Poor boy was desperate and hot for his big brother, and Dean couldn’t bear the idea of shutting this down. Whatever the hell this was. Phone sex. With his brother. And fuck, but he was hard as fucking granite.
“Yeah?” It was all he could manage. A roughened word spoken just a touch too deep. Could have been taken for disgust, but Sam was too far gone and knew Dean far too well to mistake it for anything but the raw lust it was.
“Mmhm, I’m so horny for you! I want you to open me up and fuck me nice and hard.”
“Fuck, Sammy.”
“That’s the idea.”
Dean tightened his grip on himself, tugging at the tip, a twist of his hand. And yeah, fuck yeah, the idea of fingering his little brother open; of having Sammy writhing on his fingers, coming undone, coming apart in the most beautiful way imaginable because of Dean’s touch, and then being taken by him. Knees pressed to his shoulders, belly folded over, thighs trembling, held taut, the bitten red lips and swallowed gasps, and...
“Fuck. I want that.”
Nevermind the fact he’d never slept with a guy before. He wasn’t naive about how it worked. Hell, he’d watched porn before. He knew. But, shit. He’d never thought about it with Sam before.
“I’d be so good for you, De. I’d let you go as deep as you wanted and you could fill me up. I wouldn’t mind.”
Dean’s hand jerked faster, pre-come dampening the head of his shaft, moist and warm and he used his palm to smear it down the length of it. Spreading his knees wider until one of them knocked against the table leg.
Sam was breathing heavily, biting back his sounds and Dean had the belated realisation that Sam was jacking off as well. His body went hot. A searing cascade of pleasure. Of wrongness. Yet the moral debate rattling around in the back of his skull only heightened the pleasure, gave it a razor sharp edge. And Dean groaned, low in his throat, a sound he couldn’t have smothered or swallowed down even if he’d tried.
Sam responded with a noise of his own; rasping and trembly and so fucking vulnerable that Dean felt something inside of him shift. Come undone. A displacement of some inner morality. A discarding of it.
And he couldn’t quite quell his own words, roughened by desire, by the utter perverseness of what they were doing. “That’s it, sweetheart, you like the thought of me breeding your tight little arse? Making you come while I fill you all the way up?”
Sam moaned, deep and sweet and Dean could hear the click of wet skin on skin. The telltale signs that Sammy was just as far gone as Dean was. His arousal dripping at the thought of taking his big brother’s cock in his arse, being fucked hard by it.
Would he beg Dean for more? Or would it be too much for him to handle? He might cry. Dean found he rather liked that idea. A sweat-dampened, wet-lashed Sammy sniffling underneath him, his pink-tipped cock hard and flushed as Dean drove mercilessly into him.
And fuck, he was close, held on the very edge of climax, driven to the precipice just by the soft sounds down the line and his own perverted thoughts.
“I’m close, Dean,” shaky-voiced. Dean heard the shift of bed springs, the hitched breath Sam let out, and then Sam was breathing down the line, “Make me come. I wanna come for you.”
And what else was Dean supposed to do? His own arousal was kicking hard, exhausted from the tease of his too-loose fist, wet with pre-come and flushed an angry red when he glanced down at his open flies and the slick mess over his hand.
He gave into both of their needs. Recklessly barreling into unknown territory. Knowing full well there was no going back once he stepped over that particular line.
“Yeah? Want me to fuck you nice and hard? Pound your arse until you can’t hold back anymore. Until you want to scream? Wanna scream for me, Sammy?”
“Y-yeah. Wanna let you hear how good you’re making me feel.”
“You touching yourself?” He didn’t really need to ask, he could hear well enough the stifled moans, the wet slip and click of Sam jerking off to his voice and his words. But he asked it anyway, some small part of him needing the outright confirmation.
“Mmh, yeah. So close. T-tell me I’m -” Sam trailed off, voice gone shy and soft. But with a belly full of liquid courage and the building crescendo of an impending orgasm, he forged ahead before Dean could prompt him. “Tell me I’m a good boy?”
Fuck. Dean’s cock twitched, an achy throb of arousal that made his thighs quiver. He gripped the base hard to quell the sudden rise of his own orgasm. Spurred on by Sam’s breathy voice, the tentative request, the way Dean’s body had reacted with a violent rush of heat and need.
Sammy wanted to be called a good boy? Dean could definitely do that.
“You want to come, Sammy? Want to come for me and be a good boy?”
A drawn-out moan from Sam, high in his throat and broken with a deep-seated pleasure that had everything to do with the way Dean had pitched his voice low; a growl of grit and gravel. Warm and rough and just the right side of gentle that it had an immediate effect on Sam.
Dean listened, phone held so tightly to his ear that it hurt, as Sam came undone. A quivering thing on the other end of the line, soft boy, sweet baby brother, coming in a rush at the praise and the gruff tone and Dean felt an implicit sense of power. A control he never knew existed; raw and compelling and powerfully addictive.
He came with a grunt, taken by surprise by the vehemency of his climax. A roaring rush in his ears, drowning out Sam’s panting breaths, lifting his head dizzily, a gossamer kind of lift and swoop and drop. He was left breathless, hand still wrapped around his softening shaft, phone still clamped against the shell of his ear, chest still twined up with the heady sense of power.
Silence, save for their mutual breathing, ragged at first, then softer.
“You okay?” Dean ventured into speech first, almost afraid of Sam’s response.
But it came on a huffed breath, a laugh, the breath of one anyway. “Yeah. I think I might actually be able to sleep now.”
“Good.” And it was good. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, shaking off the cooling slick of come from his hand, frowning at the mess he’d made in his jeans. Now that the sweep of pleasure had passed his head was returning to stark reality.
He swallowed hard, glancing over his research, the white-washed walls, the humming orange overhead light, the latched motel door. He was miles away from Stanford. Miles away from Sam, who was sleepy and contented after coming, mumbling something about his test that Dean didn’t quite catch.
And it wasn’t a sense of regret that fell upon him once Sam had hung up, the line static and barren, it wasn’t guilt or disgust that made him shove all the research into his duffel bag, that made him swipe up the keys to the impala and head for the door. For Stanford.
For Sammy.
It was a devouring, unremitting, implacable need. Bone-deep. Embedded into the very marrow of his bones.
He started the engine with a twist of the key in the ignition, a roar and rumble underneath him. And he was pulling out of the parking lot with a rev.
He never should have let Sam leave for Stanford. He was determined to make things right. Even if that meant stealing Sam away. Locking him up. Keeping him all to himself.
thinking about Mr Dean “sam, open your fucking mouth or i swear to god, i will pry it open myself and then fuck your throat until you’re choking on your own vomit” Winchester.
i just think teen dean is never going to touch sam's dick. like sure, he'll rub it over sam's jeans and let sam hump his thigh and maybe his hands go around sam's thin waist and his pinky brushes the top of sam's ass. but he'd never go any further than that
I don't think people pay enough attention to Sam's boobs. In most wincest fanfics I haven't seen much about them. Even in fanfics with breeding kink and mpreg.
I'm disappointed, I need more fanfics/arts where Dean plays with Sam's boobs (bonus if there's also male lactation, I'm a freak)
the way you’re like unironically the 15th person in my asks mentioning sam tits lactation,,,, i will be delivering soon, it’ll be on my twitter (@wincestical) and ill be drawing samtits extra juicy and voluptuous just for the enthusiasts.. NEEEED to do a tiddy fuck piece for sure 🫣
OKAY SO because you did a john/Dean fic do u think sammy would be pretending to be asleep but really he's hearing everything and he's secretly jealous because he's always wanted the same attention from his dad that Dean gets
oh YES god +++++ the jealousy would eat sam alive in the hottest way ifykykkkk…
like imagine sam lying there in the dark, pretending his breathing’s even while every muscle in his body is locked tight, pretending he’s out cold so dean and john don’t stop. he can hear it all…
the soft creak of the mattress, dean’s muffled little whimpers against john’s hand, the wet, filthy sound of dean riding slow and deep like he’s savoring every inch… sam’s cock jst throbs painfully hard in his boxers just from the rhythm alone, from the way dean’s thighs slap softly against john’s hips, from john’s low, rough praise,,
“that’s it, boy… take daddy nice and slow… good little soldier.”
sam’s nails dig into his palms to keep from touching himself right then, because fuck—he’s so jealous it hurts.
dean gets this. dean gets to be the one who fixes dad, the one who opens up and takes it and gets called good boy in that gravel voice that makes sam’s stomach twist. he wants to shove dean off, wants to climb on himself, wants john to look at him like that, grip his hips like that, fill him up and tell him he’s the one who’s perfect for it. but the jealousy only makes it hotter…makes him leak more, makes his hips twitch under the sheet without meaning to. he’s furious and aching and so turned on he can barely think, picturing himself in dean’s place, picturing dean waking up to watch him ride, to see sam take it just as good (even better, maybe—), to make dean jealous right back. sam comes untouched just like that 🥰🥰
